“Samantha,” Dad said, as though he had been talking for a while and wanted her attention.
She snapped her head around. “Yeah?”
“Can you help me with the luggage?” He was standing by the trunk of the car, one hand holding a suitcase, the other on the back of the open vehicle.
“Sure,” she said, pretending that it was all normal, that she didn’t have these deep longings, these illicit longings.
No, she thought, with a wry smile. I’m just a twenty-five-year-old editor and this trip is just a trip and nothing more.
But then Jason emerged from the house, and she couldn’t believe the lie for a moment.
*****
Jason Sykes was a tall man, about six foot three. He had short black hair that was only now starting to show a few strands of gray, and with a thick gray-black beard that covered his strong jaw. His eyes were a brown so dark they were almost black. When he looked at you, he seemed to command you. His eyes were the eyes of a man who is used to having his orders followed. He usually wore expensive suits, but today he was wearing shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt. It showed how muscular he was. Even at fifty, he spent an hour a day in the gym. Samantha knew this because Dad had often commented about it to her. “I don’t know how he does it,” Dad would say, torn between bitterness and admiration. “An hour at day at his – no, at our – age!”
He walked slowly from the house. He never seemed to rush. He always seemed to assume he would get where he was heading, whether it was in business or in his personal life. He had never been married. He was, most people agreed, a lone wolf. “Hello, Samantha,” he said, looking her straight in the eye.
“Hello, Jason,” Samantha said.
No more Mr. Sykes! she thought. I’m an adult now, too!
“Sir,” Dad said.
“Oh, none of that, Andrew,” Jason said, waving his hand. “We’re not at work now.” He walked right up to Samantha, so close that she thought she could feel the heat from his muscular body, and took the suitcase from her that she’d been carrying. “Let me,” he said, and didn’t wait for her to reply. He tore it from her grip and turned toward the house. Samantha thought she wouldn’t be able to stop him from taking it even if she’d tried with all her might. The thought sent a thrill through her body.
Dad smiled at her – a smile that said don’t argue with him – the three of them walked to the house. Samantha watched his ass as they walked. He was fifty, but it was tight, and strong. His leg muscles were well-honed. His biceps were tight when he hefted the suitcase. Samantha was at the back of the trio, which was good; she didn’t want either of them seeing her face just then. She was blushing at herself: blushing at how attracted she was to this older man.
Dad carried his suitcase to his room when they were in the house, and Jason carried Samantha’s to her room for her. “You don’t have to,” she said, but he just waved his hand again. An image, strong, came into her mind of him waving his hand like that in board meetings. In that one simple movement he said so much: I am the boss, I am a billionaire, don’t argue with what I want. Samantha felt her nipples tingle, her clit ache. She was feeling dirty today, it seemed.
Her room was at the back of the house on the second floor. Dad’s was at the front of the house on the first floor. Jason’s – the luck! – was on the second floor, two doors down from Samantha. From her window she could see the gate that led to the road they had driven down and the surrounding forest. She sat on the bed, testing it. It was comfy. Jason set the suitcase on the ground just inside the door. She turned at the sound, about to go and get the suitcase – expecting him to be gone – but he wasn’t gone. He stood at the door, watching her with those almost-black eyes. He scratched his beard, and looked her up and down.
“Is something wrong?” Samantha said, her voice tight as he watched her. She was wearing shorts that suddenly seemed very short, shorts that showed off her thin pale legs. On top she wore a tank top which showed the top of her cleavage, her pert breasts.
“No,” he said calmly. “Not at all. Why, does something seem wrong?”
“You’re—” Her words caught. Her heart started its drum-beating once again. It was in her ears, in her palms; her hands pulsed.She felt vulnerable under his gaze, like something under a microscope. It should have made her frightened, or repulsed. It should have made her squirm. But the only result in that direction was a little blush. Otherwise, she was excited, excited to have this billionaire staring at her, excited to have his eyes lingering on her legs.
“I’m . . . What?”
“Staring at me,” Samantha breathed.
“Am I?” Again, his voice was calm. She got the impression that he’d be calm under any circumstances, that he wouldn’t let anything shake him. He shrugged. “I can’t help it.”
“What do you mean?” Samantha muttered, her voice tight.
He stepped into the room, took another step and another, until her was standing opposite her, close to her. He reached out. Time seemed to slow. She saw his hand, his strong hand – a hand that signed multi-billion-dollar deals – fingers stretched toward her, reaching for her leg. Samantha bit her lip without realizing it, bit it so hard that when she did realize what she was doing she was surprised it didn’t bleed. Then his hand touched her thigh, just above the knees, squeezing her flesh, a warm impression on her skin.
Samantha let out a moan. Her pussy was on fire. Part of her – a strong part – wanted him to move his hand up to her clit. But he just kept it above her knee, his eyes locked on hers. “You’re fucking sexy, aren’t you?” he said.
She wasn’t sure if he wanted her to really answer, but then footsteps sounded from the stairs and she didn’t have to decide. Jason let go of her leg and stepped back to the door. Dad joined him. “Getting settled in?” he said.
Samantha nodded – she didn’t think she could talk – but Dad kept looking at her. She cleared her throat. Words didn’t want to come. She cleared it again. Beads of sweat, warm and damp, slid down her forehead. “Fine,” she mumbled. “Yep, everything’s fine.”
Except that I’m horny as hell right now. Except that I’d love nothing more than for your boss to lock that door and fuck my brains out until I came over and over on his rock-hard cock.
*****
The sun began to set soon after Jason and Dad left her room. She was tired from the drive, which gave her a good excuse to stay in her room that night. She needed to think. She tried to go over it calmly, as she would go over a manuscript dropped on her desk on Monday morning, but every time she thought of it she couldn’t help but think of Jason’s hand on her leg, on the potential there for more, more, on the way it had made her clit ache, her pussy burn. She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Did he know? Her chest lurched, in horror and in excitement. Did he know that she had a crush on him? Or did he just want her?
She stared up at the ceiling. The window was open, and the sound of night birds and crickets filtered into the bedroom. The light from the half-moon glinted off the turned-off light bulbs, making it seem as though they were filled with moonlight. She lay on her back, staring up at this, watching the moonlight shift across the room, and wondering what she should do.
Her dad’s boss had touched her—touched her!She felt warm every time she thought about it. Her clit ached each time. Her nipples became hard. Years of suppressed urges rose up within her.
He could be my first time, she thought.
Yes, she supposed he could. Samantha Bines was a well-read editor, a half-decent writer, a biker, a kayaker, and she was also a virgin. Each time she acknowledged (even to herself) that she was a virgin she had to preface it with her other achievements. It softened the blow, she found. Why had she never had sex? It wasn’t like she’d never had a chance. The boys – and they were boys – in college had been eager enough, and since then she’d gone on a few dates. But those boys – always boys, never men, not like Jason – didn’t interest her much. They always had too-eager looks in their e
yes, like they were blessed simply by being close to her. They were soft, overly kind.
Jason was none of those things. Jason took what he wanted. Like earlier. He wanted to touch me, so he had.
A shiver ran all over her, and she knew it wasn’t from the light breeze that came in through the window.
Tomorrow, there would be a picnic.
She would have to fight her urges.
If she did not, Dad’s career could be ruined. He would be furious if she found out that his daughter and his boss had done anything sexual, had crossed the age barrier, the social barrier, and given into their animal selves. She could imagine him screaming right now, imagine him pacing up and down the room, cursing the man who paid his salary. And when he confronted Jason—seeya, Mr. Bines.
Just fight what you feel, she thought. Just fight it, Samantha.
But she didn’t know if she could.
*****
They didn’t have to walk far for the midday picnic.
Samantha woke at around eleven am (she hadn’t fallen asleep until three, her mind wracked with thoughts of Jason, of his strong hands, of his manful beard and his dark, commanding eyes). She rose from bed and stretched, reaching down and touching her toes. She liked to keep limber, when she could. And she must’ve tossed and turned in the night; her body ached.
She yawned – the night’s overthinking taking its toll – as she left her bedroom and walked down the stairs. “I thought you were going to sleep all day,” Dad said when she joined him in the kitchen.
I wish, she thought. Then I wouldn’t have to fight urges that are stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before. “Nope,” she said, smiling a wide, fake PR-smile. “I wouldn’t miss this picnic for the world.”
Dad was packing the hamper, his back to her, when Jason walked in. His beard was still wet from his shower. He was wearing a tank top, which on any other fifty-year-old would have looked ridiculous. But with his muscles and his beard and the way he held himself, he could pull it off. Samantha’s eyes moved from his bicep muscles to his shoulder muscles, which looked plenty big enough to bear the weight of a billion-dollar company.
“Morning,” he said, staring Samantha right in the eyes, a knowing glint deep within the almost-blackness.
“Morning,” Samantha muttered, and turned away.
Dad turned and faced them both. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yep,” Jason smiled.
“Me, too,” Samantha said.
They didn’t have to walk far: out of the house and about half a minute to the lake. Samantha sat at the edge of the lake, the sun hot on her skin. Dad handed her some suntan lotion, and she became to apply it, first to her legs. He then went back to setting up the picnic. Jason sat off to the side, and as she rubbed her legs, massaging the skin, rubbing the lotion in, she saw that he was watching her. Heat rose once again with her, and she found herself rubbing her skin with more force, pressing the flesh harder, compressing it. She liked him watching her, she realized. She liked his eyes on her; she liked performing for him.
Once the lotion was applied, she turned from the lake to the blanket and took a plate of sandwiches and crisps. Jason took a plate and so did Dad, and they began their picnic. The conversation washed over and around her for a time. She was aware that she talked about work, told them about a fantasy manuscript she’d been editing for the past two weeks, told them about how difficult the writer was being. And she knew that Dad and Jason talked about work, too. And then hobbies . . . kayaking came up; Jason kayaked, too, Samantha learned. But all of this seemed like background noise. She was far more aware of Jason’s eyes on her, of the way his gaze moved up and down her body, of the way he seemed to look into her, like he knew what she was thinking—like he knew she wanted him.
The conversation died down around her, like a radio being turned down in the background. Dad was on his feet. Samantha looked up, realizing that he was talking. “I have to go and get some work done,” he said. “The Burns account,” he went on, nodding to Jason.
Jason nodded back. “They still being difficult?”
“Yep.” He held his phone out before him. “I was tempted to turn this off, but you never know with these people.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. Do you mind?”
He was asking both of them now, looking at his daughter and his boss. He has no idea, Samantha thought. He has no idea what might happen if he leaves. He thinks this is innocent. But this is the furthest thing from innocent that has ever been. He doesn’t know that I want to fuck Jason right here, that I want him to take me now. He has no idea what leaving means.
“No,” she said, amazed at her outward calm. “I don’t mind.”
“No, Andrew,” Jason said. “Me neither. It’s a shame, but you go ahead if you need to.”
Dad nodded and left them, walking back toward the house. Samantha didn’t look at Jason for a minute or more, purposefully looking at the lake, at the surrounding forest, anywhere but at him. Dimly, I heard the house door close behind me. Then the grass rustled and Jason was sitting beside me, his shoulder touching mine. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes,” Samantha agreed, her voice sounding like an echo in her own ears, as though she was far away, as though she was nothing sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the man she had had a serious crush on for years. Her pussy ached again, and her clit ached; her nipples ached. All of her ached.
“I’d like to explore the forest a little,” he went on, in the same calm voice. He knew what he was doing; he knew he was trying to get her alone. And he most likely knew that Samantha knew. He knew what this meant. If she agreed, she wanted it. If she didn’t agree, she didn’t want it. She could end it here. She could stop this dead in its tracks. She could push her dad’s boss away and pretend that none of this ever happened. Yes, she could do that. “Do you want to come with me?”
No, she said, but no words came out. It’s wrong. You’re too old.
“Yes,” she said, her voice remarkably clear. “Yes, I do.”
“Okay, then,” Jason said. He climbed to his feet and offered Samantha his hand. Not thinking, Samantha took it. He pulled her to her feet like she weighed nothing. She felt small, powerless in his grip. “Let’s go.”
He let go of her hand and walked toward the trees. Samantha watched him go for a moment. She could run back to the house now. She could pretend that none of this had happened. She could ignore her deep desires – her body that was warm with more than sunlight – and retreat. But she didn’t.
She followed Jason into the forest.
*****
The trees closed behind them, shadows fell all around them where nature bloomed. The trees were thick with long, overhanging branches that only let in small slivers of sunlight. They walked in silence, stepping over fallen logs and through thick brush. Samantha was only wearing light shoes, but the forest floor was soft, the broken twigs were so brittle they cracked if she happened to step on them, and when she stumbled, she grabbed onto Jason’s shoulder for support. She did this three times in about half an hour, and had to ask herself if she really was stumbling or if she just wanted to touch his muscular shoulder. She honestly didn’t know the answer.
They stopped in a mini-clearing where the overhanging branches stopped short and let a wide pool of sunlight through the foliage. The ground here was lush with bright green grass (like a natural mattress, Samantha thought) and there was a convenient bench-like log just to the side of it. Jason walked to the log and sat down. Seeing no alternative – except turning back, running from her urges, which she couldn’t do – she walked through the clearing and sat beside him.
They sat in silence for a time, listening to the sounds of the forest, to the birds and the wind moving the foliage above their heads. Samantha tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to her. So she just sat there and waited—waited for what? She didn’t exactly know. All she knew was that she was waiting. She felt as though she had been wai
ting for this moment for almost a decade.
She felt rather than saw Jason turn toward her. She turned toward him, saw that he was staring at her straight in the eye, and forced herself not to look away. “Why do you look at me like that?” she said, knowing it was wrong, knowing he was twice her age, and yet wanting it all the same.
“You know why,” he said, his dark gaze fixed on hers.
He moved his hand across the log and placed it on her leg. Samantha gasped. She had to remind herself, over and over, that this was Jason Sykes touching her leg. It was difficult to believe, even as it was happening. People always had sexy, hot, steamy dreams, she reasoned. Maybe it was the office worker fantasizing about the bad boy opposite her, or the housewife going crazy (inwardly, secretly) over the college boy who sometimes visited her son, or the widow who has been sneaking looks at an old friend lately. But these fantasies, in Samantha’s experience, rarely came true. More often than not you imagined these things, but never imagined they would be anything more than secret, private moments.
But now it was happening for real. The fantasy she had envisioned time and time again since her sixteenth birthday was happening. Her heart beat like crazy, faster and louder than any drum; it was like a stampede of elephants in her chest. She looked down at his hand, strong, gripping her thigh, the skin compressing beneath it.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered, her voice shaky.
Her leg was fire-hot where his hand touched her. Her pussy ached; everything ached. I want this, she thought, unable to deny it to herself. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Fuck the taboo of it, fuck how wrong it is, fuck his age, fuck my virginity. Fuck it all! I want this, and there’s nothing anybody can do to stop it out here.They didn’t rise from the log, but nonetheless, it seemed as though the forest fell away beneath them. They were completely alone, sectioned off from the rest of the world.
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